John had been going through a hell of a time recently. Having to give blood, gets tests, then the vaccines. He hated needles, not that he would admit that out loud to anyone. At least he had managed to help Arthur. He helped people, most of the time to no thanks. But he didn't need them nor did he care if he got them or not. It was actually better if people were ungrateful. It made it easier to forget them. But Arthur had been polite and friendly to him.
It was time for a decent bloody drink. Something a bit more unusual. He could have spent his time drinking in his apartment, but he didn't want to be there. He didn't want to just be alone there with his thoughts. Alone with the voices of his past. So he decided to go to Bryn's bar.
He was familiar enough with it, having visited it quite a few times already. He walked in, all trench coat and arrogance, head held high, cigarette held between his lips, unlit. There was a new face around, by the looks of things. Hopefully this one didn't have TB or anything similar.
Walking up to the bar, he reached over where he had tucked away a bottle of something warm and golden coloured. Grabbing a glass as well, he sat down at the bar. As he did so, he could feel a slight tingle on his neck. Something familiar and perhaps magical. He had that feeling fairly often on the space station, and shrugging it off, he poured himself a glass of the whiskey like liquid. He took out his Zippo lighter and flicked the top back with a satisfying metallic click. He lit the cigarette and closed the lighter, pocketing it. Turning, he raised his glass to the stranger he had spotted earlier before turning his back to him once more.